


The Cherry Stem

by junoed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Omega Verse, Omega Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junoed/pseuds/junoed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plucked from the fruit and transferred between his lips, into the wetness of his mouth, into the dark heat.</p><p>"Time alleviates the aggravated wounds of which humankind deals itself to stretch the self-pity that garners attention that is so deliriously craved. It serves as a clean bandage, and the bandage a crutch."</p><p>A pink tongue emerges, all ripe meat, and two fingers extract what had been fondled inside the cavern of wet darkness. He takes the elegant hand pressed against the surface of the desk, turns it so as to face the ceiling, and Will's fingers deposit the damp smallness onto the psychiatrist's palm.</p><p>"And yet for me, time serves as a poorly constructed tourniquet."</p><p>Will leaves after that with a "thanks for the cherries" and Hannibal is left to stare at the cherry stem that has been perfectly twisted into a perfect knot at the center, maroon eyes crackling and ablaze with a fierce purpose.</p><p>Yes. This is the man he so desperately desires. The one he must captivate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a coping mechanism as season 3 is coming to a wrap and something to indulge a friend of mine and myself with! also the thought of a manipulative Will is so very appealing i couldnt help myself evening out the playing field :^)
> 
> i dont own hannibal and all that jaaazz

It all began with a bitter regression into a primal defense mechanism that coerced the thought of wanting to shove a certain foot up a certain anal cavity due to being psychoanalyzed without his consent. All bark and no bite-- not yet, anyway-- and Will was the split-image of an antagonized pup in the midst of it beginning to defend itself all on its own. There was a nonverbal spit directed at Jack Crawford that had been created in the form of a glance; it held nothing but saltiness and distaste over the situation. Over these two overbearing entities.

Yes, that is where it all began and where once a doable, routine life spiraled into an abyss of anxiety and nauseated terror.

All dictated by one _little_ man in a pristine _little_ suit.

Will uses the word _'little'_ lightly and yet with a heaviness that bears the weight of a looming threat. His mind is all clear now, it is aaall right-- gone is the haze that had been tainted with his suppressants and tampered with his not-really-psychiatrist's and not-really-friend's words. He can _see_. _See_. Yes, he can see now. See with a transparency that is no longer unhinged.

He can see with a dazzling clarity behind these iron bars.

Having been detoxed of the suppressant's chemicals over an agonizing three weeks, the following four had been spent in his _little_ cell, devising a _little_ plan to stimulate quiet havoc inside the _little_ man wearing the pristine _little_ suit-- the suit of which has not been traded in for a jumper, unlike Will having given up his flannels for the latter.

Will digresses, though.

He tends to do a lot of that here.

Lots of time for that.

But his thoughts begin to wander anyway upon the realization that Hannibal continues to believe Will is a Beta despite that superior olfactory sense he so subtly prides himself in. All those visits and all those conversations and yet not a pinprick of newly discovered knowledge. The detox is a time-consuming and gradual thing. And it serves as the tipping point in his sort of epiphany.

Manipulation is an intimate little toy.

 _Their_ intimate little toy.

So when he is released and Chilton poses the question "So why did Hannibal not just _kill_ you?" and Will responds with "Because he wants to be my friend.", what he says makes reality vibrant and his words hold a spectacular advantage that nearly breaks through his new self-control with a smile.

When he sees Jack, it isn't difficult to bury the urge down. All that talk about Miriam is enough to carefully distract him-- including the crime scene.

Also when he comes home to his dogs and the scent of _Alpha_ , that also serves as a distraction to keep the smile at bay. As Alana questions Hannibal's safety, her flaring nostrils picking up on Will's suddenly _new_ pheromones, there is the temptation to sneer at her basic instinct and the nerve of her subtext.

As much as Will adores Alana, she will get in the way of his plan and he has no qualms so as to deal low blows in an effort to keep her away.

Away from her new interest in his scent and away from Hannibal.

Details can be pesky little things.

He goes about dealing with his time tidying up his home, feeding the dogs, speaking with Miriam, booking a doctor's appointment to deal with matters **_down there_**. It would be an essential factor to his manipulative blueprints.

A day passes, then two. Will gets a haircut, trims his facial hair, washes up real nice and clean. Soon enough he finds himself in the psychiatrist's little waiting lobby and prickling with an excitement that has been bred from the murky depths of his own darkness. He kneads the thrill into a subdued peace and knocks. No, Will has not made an appointment.

How terribly _rude_ of him.

But he is right on time, just like his previous appointments. Will knows he is to be forgiven simply because of that.

Not that he cares much for Hannibal's forgiveness.

His back is to the door when Will hears it click open and he turns around slowly, craning his neck over his shoulder, looking at that _little_ man from beneath his long eyelashes, carefully gawking the reaction behind that pristine mask.

Will can see the cracks of the mask. It is the eyes. And Hannibal's eyes hold a crackling surprise and a stunted, predatory glint as Will's _very_ Omega, very _thick_ pheromones wafts into the psychiatrist's nose. Yes, he can see Hannibal coming into the light.

His dear William is not a little Beta, but a Darling _Omega_.

This _little_ man is his pristine _little_ suit.

Hannibal's fragrance is a lick of fire, a heady thickness of oak that beautifully overlaps with the finest and aged wine, tinged with silver birch and the remnant smoke of charred wood. Will idly wonders what his own scent is like, and even though he cannot quite pinpoint what it exactly _is_ , both Hannibal's and Will's natural perfumes intermingle-- and the blend of it is absolutely _delightful._ **Delicious**. Easily a substance of addiction had it been in the form of a liquid or solid consumable.

Phantom lips along his spine and it takes Will a moment to notice that the mere amalgamate of their individual fragrances is stirring a hedonistic response within him. It pleases Will. One less obstacle in achieving his goal now that he is naturally attracted to Hannibal's scent.

"Hello, Will."

Two words coated in softness. Dripping honey onto a warm biscuit, coating the insides and outs-- exactly what his voice is  doing to Will. A small rumble accentuated with that charming accent, like fine, warm whiskey.

"Hello, Doctor Lecter."

Mirrored in softness, however rough after not having used his voice the entire day. Something sparks in those maroon eyes, terribly subtle, and Will must appreciate Hannibal's previously manipulative efforts in succeeding with him able to make eye contact.

Or else he wouldn't have caught onto that spark.

And Will needs that little push as a confirmation to carry out his plan.

"May I come in?"

Hannibal does not move from his position in blocking the threshold for a moment, feigning an obscure hesitation with the vaguest of frowns meant to deceive the FBI consultant into thinking that indeed after all this mess, Will was still in the wrong and capable of causing injury to this innocent, little psychiatrist.

Except Will knows better. Knows this _little_ man better.

He is now stable, after all.

But Will won't tell him that.

After a moment of insincere deliberation, Hannibal steps aside.

"After you."

His steps are slow and deliberate, delicate, passing it off as a decision to remain careful around this _thoroughbred_ _Alpha_ , and he makes sure to just about brush his shoulder against Hannibal's chest, tilting his head a fraction so as to expose the side of his fair neck, and he manages to catch the minor stiffening in the psychiatrist's posture.

Now it's time for Will to wind _him_ up and watch him _go_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy !! i know this chapter isnt long, but it's more of a test-run in the form of an introduction! is it interesting enough???? i have no clue !!! it's my first time writing an A/B/O fic !
> 
> im totally getting out the second chapter this week nd it's gonna be a HELLUVA lot longer! ive also been rewatching hannibal nd i love the idea of dark!will having the upperhand nd basically gettin vengeance on all the shit hannibal's pulled
> 
> #gEt REKT  
> #git gud  
> :^)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i forgot to add that this story kicks off in season 2 (though im p sure yall know that!) and will deviate from the storyline-- just a disclaimer !!

The air appears to be even crisper within the confines of the office compared to the outside where the grounds are layered with virgin snow, and Will deems it the layout that has not diverged in its careful, clinical design of dark, muted colors-- _sadistic, predatory_ colors. An ostentatious display of status that brings Will to smile just a bit out nostalgia and an acidic amusement.

How _Alpha_ of Hannibal.

Even he, the man that does not take kindly to appeasement of his intellectual vanity, cannot help but exhibit his ranking that surges forth from even his most basic of instincts.

"I see you've kept my standing appointment open," Will says as he approaches Hannibal's desk at a leisure pace. His attention is focused on roaming along the small library engraved into the second floor to buy some time-- some _unstable_ time. Keep away the eye contact. Mold your body into conflicted vacillation.

"And you are right on time."

"It would've been rude otherwise, wouldn't it?"

"And it would have been rude to have changed the time without notifying you," Hannibal articulates. He has not moved from his spot, save for having closed the door.

"A lot has changed," he begins. " _You_ changed me."

Will deals his first card and plays his part as the Omega with a quivering voice that visibly latches onto some sort of strong front. A grimace twists his face as he looks over his shoulder, careful to look at anywhere but Lecter, but he manages the quickest glance of which could be considered an accidental slip of direction, and what he finds drags a scalpel along Will's calculated patience and sustained fury. A glint of satisfaction reflects in Hannibal's eyes as he constructs the softest expression of being wounded.

"I had your best interest at heart. You were my friend."

Hannibal had walked to stand beside the chair that was designated **his** in all therapy sessions and Will turns around properly, has the acting chops to furrow his eyebrows in the vaguest, disagreeable shake of the head, keeping his attention focused on the crimson tie nestled within the comfort of more expensive fabrics.

 _"Friend?"_ And Will looks so _torn_ beneath his own mask he is 'attempting-to-keep-from-collapsing' that the distinguishing pleasure quietly filtering behind Hannibal's gaze evokes a fraction of sincerity in that hurt.

Just a fraction.

Nothing to dwell on.

"You changed me," he repeats. "Nestled yourself into the core parts of my person like some sort of... _parasite_. And I have to deal with my feelings about you. Directly."

The essence of calm and assembled reproach in modest subtlety. He has no doubt that Hannibal is mulling around the words with a _delight_. A pause follows as Will allows the words to hang in the air like damp laundry on a clothing line before he says with a quiet firmness:

"I'd like to resume my therapy."

And he does not give Hannibal a chance to reject the statement-- because they both know he would not do it-- before draping his coat along the back of the chair meant for patients. Seats himself on the leather cushion, resting his steady arms on the armrests, and watches his psychiatrist seat himself as well. One leg crossed over the other. Hands clasped on his thigh.

"Where shall we begin?"

"You're not one for poor taste, Doctor Lecter. Or do you now begin your sessions with _'let's start from the moment your mother left'_?"

The faintest smile tugs at Hannibal's lips.

"Poor taste indeed." He tilts his head upward a fraction. "Why don't we begin with addressing the elephant in the room?"

"You're going to need to be more specific about which elephant," Will drawls.

"You were using suppressants."

Will's chuckle lacks mirth. " _That_ elephant. I thought you would have plucked my attempt to kill you from the parade instead."

"That will come in due time."

Eyes, precious cerulean gemstones, they shine under the false light as they avert Hannibal's general direction and rest on the effervescent fire painting their burnt illustrations against the bricks of the fireplace. Takes a moment to roll the words inside his mouth, as if immersed in a distant memory from the exact moment his prescription had been declared null and void for the rest of his years.

"I was advised it would do well to my health if I gave them up for good. Something about the toxins in them that were working against my better judgment-- a sugarcoated way of telling me that if I continued taking them, my brain would not be able to function unless I was on a machine."

Such a strong suppressant coupled with the strain and trauma that accompanied his job did not work hand-in-hand.

"The side-effects were almost fatal. But you used those to your advantage in sculpting me from the inside out, fabricating all these things into my subconscious with your serpent tongue."

"I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me. As your friend, I was only bringing you to your full potential."

"By dragging me to the breaking point where the Devil awaited with an outstretched hand. That was you, wasn't it? Leading me to my damnation." Because Hannibal is **not** _God_.

"Damnation would require succumbing to death."

"And had you _not_ been planning to kill me?"

He can see the cogs turning in Hannibal's head and Will _knows_ that that had been the plan, to consume the FBI consultant and savor his brilliant mind on that refined palate.

Yes. Will knows about Hannibal. Knows. _Sees him_.

"I had been planning to allow the chips fall where they may."

"And the teacup breaking follows suit." _You were the one that pushed it off the table_ , Will wants to say.

"This situation would have been nonexistent had you not taken the suppressants in the first place."

The thrill of having caught Hannibal in the midst of his manipulation with a clear mind and his sanity intact is almost adrenaline-inducing. He has to deny the burst of pheromones because of it.

Will pretends that he had been dealt a blow and his eyebrows knit together in brief before a jaw flex. Looks down to his lap.

"It's difficult," Will begins with his hands rubbing back and forth along the tops of his thighs. It will pass off as a nervous tick, he is sure of it. "to be born in a world where Omegas aren't seen in the same light as their Beta and Alpha counterparts. Where your skills are doubted because of your biological makeup."

"You wanted to prove yourself to the rest of your colleagues that you are just as capable as they are."

"No, no, I didn't-- and frankly _don't_ \-- feel the need to prove myself to anyone. It was just--" he breaks off with a sigh to fill in the space of absent words, "a way to walk amongst the crowd without any unnecessary obstacles."

"Sexism," Hannibal adds.

"Well it _is_ an unnecessary, idiotic thing."

There is the faintest hint of a smile in the eyes of Hannibal Lecter.

"Being rid of something that has been a part of us for so long can leave a need for a substitute to stabilize our lives once again."

"Oh, well don't get me wrong but I don't miss the suppressants. Though I won't deny that they had their perks." He exhales through his nose. "Like not being sniffed out by every Alpha within a mile radius."

Of course he is making the distance of exaggeration, but it serves as an emphasis.

Well, actually, it wasn't _that_ much of an exaggeration.

Hannibal's eyebrows arch in faint.

 _Bingo_.

"Have you been courted since your release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane?"

What sharp and precise wording there, Doctor Lecter. _What sharp teeth you have_.

"Variations of what you would call 'courting.' Lazy variations."

Something slithers beneath the dark waters of the undisturbed lake that resides in Hannibal's eyes and Will grasps the emotion behind it as _jealousy_.

Who dares court _his_ Will? The Will he's had his sights set upon since the very beginning to mold into _his_ design, the Will he has claimed as his one and only because he is the _only one_ that can _understand?_

Beta or Omega, William Graham is Hannibal's alone.

 _Oh_ , Will thinks. _No, Hannibal_. **You** _are_ **mine**.

See, the thing is, Will has about enough rage to murder a man in cold blood without remorse-- specifically the man seated across from him at this very moment--  but he has collected enough willpower to hold back from this urge and instead, break Hannibal piece, by piece, by piece.

Vengeance. That's the word. He is doing it not to avenge having deceived Alana, having played Jack like a fiddle, having denied Bella her choice, having flipped the world upside down for his friends back at the crime lab.

No. Will is doing this _only_ for himself out of selfishness.

Because frankly, it's about time Will Graham was selfish for fucking _once_.

He is going to wreak absolute **havoc** within Hannibal, tear him apart from the inside out, make the bastard repent for his fucking sins because Will Graham is tired of this sonofabitch doing what he pleases.

Will wonders if this is how God feels.

And when the finale presents itself, it will be _Hannibal_ with a muddled brain and a manipulated thought process. He is going to be wrapped around Will Graham's finger-- collar, leash, and all.

Is he sure of it? _Absolutely_.

He is going to use the biology he never cared much for to do it.

The victory is a faint spice on his tongue. Makes his mouth water.

Being an Omega by no means had been something Will was ashamed of nor held a burning hatred for. When he Presented, there was only a raise of the eyebrows and a mild 'Ah' before signing up for suppressants. His biology was a burden in ways others did not mind, but where Will was aiming, it was something he would prefer not to deal with in the upcoming course of events.

How lovely it is to finally embrace who he truly is! Even if it _is_ to manipulate someone to eat from the palm of Will's hand.

And an _Alpha_ , no less.

An Alpha that plays with and kills and consumes his prey.

_You will be begging for me to be yours, but you have already lost, Hannibal. I've got you. You were_ **mine** _from the start._

He is brought out from his own little Mind Palace as Hannibal's voice coaxes him back into the present reality, something he now genuinely enjoys being a part of without questioning his sanity every other minute.

No stag. No wendigo.

Only a monster in a person suit.

"You fall flat to flattery," he notes.

"Like I said: _lazy_."

"Your scent is thick. Ripe for the picking having been repressed and buried by the suppressants."

If he looked closely enough-- and oh, Will indeed _was_ \-- there was the delicate flaring of Hannibal's nostrils picking up on Will's natural perfume and a throat-swallow, no doubt drinking it down and keeping it buried within his lungs as a keepsake, no matter how brief.

Will has never been happier to be an Omega.

"An unmated, virgin Omega that smells just like _that_ ; might as well hang a neon sign above my head that reads ' **Mount me'**."

He makes sure to keep his voice dry and coat it with a thin layer of annoyance. As if embers from the fire had escaped to nestle themselves within Hannibal's eyes, they are beginning to revive in death and blaze with _carnal desire_.

It shocks Will. _Truly shocks him_. What shocks him even further is the unintentional reaction on his part-- a flash of heat down his spine and front.

No matter how much he appreciates that calm person suit, the fact that he can evoke that kind of primitive reaction from Hannibal is so _pleasurable_ and _satisfying_. So he _is_ just like any other Alpha.

Will shrugs off the momentary attraction. He decides that it is because he is off his suppressants and is particularly sensitive.

It works in his favor, however.

"Do you wish to be?" And Will does not need to feign the flush that creeps along his neck and cheeks. "Desiring a mate and to be embraced in such a way is a natural Omegan desire."

"I'm," Will rubs his stubble with one hand to soothe the pink away, "not actively looking for a mate. But I... suppose I'm not opposed to finding one, either."

"You suppose?" Is that a _purr_ , Doctor Lecter?

"I'm not," he finalizes with the softest of timid, resigned sighs. And it's the truth.

"And yet you have dismissed all potential suitors."

"These _suitors_ , they only want to mount, fuck, and breed. To fill me to the brim with their seed-- pardon my vulgar simplification." The hands that have stilled on his lap return to settle upon the armrests. "Where is the romance in all of that?"

And for a moment, Will indulges himself in to bear the truth before Lecter in careful dollops. "I want to feel secure. _To be loved and be_ in _love_."

The sappiness of it is enough to leave a sour taste on Will's tongue. But Hannibal uncrossing his legs and carefully leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees is enough to hook the Alpha onto the line.

Will is a _damn_ good fisherman.

"That is also another natural Omegan desire, to be cocooned within the arms of your mate and whispered sweet little promises along the shell of your ear." Will rolls his shoulders to stop a shiver.

"I _ache_ for it, but not enough to venture for it on my own."

"You want them to come to _you_ ," Hannibal murmurs and beneath it, a rumble is hidden deep within his chest.

_I am both the lure and the fisherman._

"I want _him_ to come to _me_."

It appears that the atmosphere has shifted with the momentum of Will's words and Hannibal's psychoanalyzing almost violently.

"You have been declining courtship by other suitors because you already have your eyes set on one in particular," Hannibal articulates with a clinical passiveness, but Will lifts that veil with the delicate fingers of his empathy and takes a drink of that _possessiveness_.

Oh, _yes_.

"No, but I _know_ he's out there. It's like I can _feel_ him, some predator stalking within the underbrush to strike at the precise moment opportunity presents itself." Will tilts his head and gazes up at the ceiling. Does he have a clue that he is exposing the flesh of his throat to _a thoroughbred Alpha_ in his _domain_? Why, _of course_ not. "And I'm just here waiting. For _him_. Blind, but waiting."

No, Will's eyes are wide open. _I can_ _see_ _you_.

"Waiting in the comfort of the darkness until you are swept into his embrace."

"That would appear to be a variation of the textbook definition called _soulmates_ , Doctor Lecter."

Now Hannibal's smile is visible, one that is meant to illustrate a physical agreement, yet Will knows better and sees that there is a hot, dark contentment the _Alpha_ savors at the _Omega_ proclaiming the word soulmates _first_. He thrills in being the empath's _soulmate_.

Soulmate in itself is a fairytale of the generations old and new.

Even Hannibal cannot escape its allure.

 _Perfect_.

"It appears so. Do you feel that this invisible man is your soulmate?"

Will looks back down to his lap and fondles a button on his shirt. He can feel Hannibal's eyes boring a hole into him.

"I do."

And he does not realize it at this very second, but those two words Will uttered held subtext unbeknownst to him as it caressed the air between the Alpha and Omega and was the catalyst of setting fire to Hannibal's insides. _'I do'_ \-- tied to the answer of soulmates and **wedding vows**.

"There is a Chinese legend that is often referred to when the topic of soulmates arises to the surface: the red string of fate. Yue Xia Lao, the deity that is in charge of marriages, ties two people together that are firmly destined to be lovers. The string can be stretched, tangled, but never torn or broken."

His words lull Will into a thoughtful tranquility and by such a chance, notices the color of his shirt-- _red_. And Hannibal's tie mirrors in color.

He almost laughs. Instead, he catches himself tingeing pink once more.

Coincidences are pesky little things.

"Let's hope he finds me soon."

"Yes. Let's."

Will looks into Hannibal's eyes.

"I've been waiting long enough."

What he sees ignite beyond those maroon eyes is enough for Will to be unable to deny the desire that tugs at his gut.

Perhaps Hannibal will be useful in more ways than one.

"Patience is always rewarded. Like Cherry Trees. Their taste is a fulfilling combination of a tart-sweetness that is only perfected through proper aging."

"The sweet cherries or the sour ones?"

Hannibal smiles faintly. "The sweet ones, my dear Will."

This theme had expanded into movement that had somehow lead them both to the kitchen of which is the quintessence of Hannibal's canvas of impeccability. Will is standing with his rear barely pressed against the edge of the counter and gazing as the Alpha presents a bowl of red, red cherries.

How coincidental indeed.

And, Will notes, Hannibal is _peacocking_.

He tilts his head and follows Hannibal back into the room that had been occupied by them previous to the desk placed just before the two adjacent leather chairs.

"Time  is a lovely factor that christens fruit into a ripeness with the intention of being held up to the light of romantic divinity."

"Like the Romans with grapes."

"Like the Romans," Hannibal echoes. Gingerly pinched between his thumb and forefinger is a cherry and he holds it out to Will. He takes it.

"Time can also be the cause of one's demise. See with the spoiling and rotting of fruits." Will places the cherry to his lips. "Of morality."

"Morality is fickle." Watches with eyes trained on Will's mouth.

Will doesn't really laugh. It's more of a bland smile and a puffs of soft breaths. "So is fruit."

He slides the plump redness into his supple mouth and neatly disengages the stem from the small fruit. Hannibal lightly drags the tip of his tongue along his upper lip as he gazes with dazzling interest. Will had not taken into consideration the amount of embarrassment that would flood his senses at this game of manipulative seduction.

But in the end, he will have his cake and eat it, too. The shame will well be worth it.

"Only certain things can be preserved-- and as they are, they can only be preserved for so long."

"And when they no longer are, it causes emotional harm and a spiritual collapse," Will says while placing the stem neatly into the bowl. He takes another cherry and plucks the stem, gently discarding the cherry back into the bowl. Takes it into his mouth and begins working his tongue.

"Time alleviates the aggravated wounds of which humankind deals itself to stretch the self-pity that garners attention that is so deliriously craved. It serves as a clean bandage, and the bandage a crutch."

Hannibal is not wrong, but Will says nothing of it. Instead he extracts the cherry's limb and takes Hannibal's warm, heavy hand, coaxes it to face the ceiling, and places the fondled stem onto his palm.

"And yet for me, times serves as a poorly constructed tourniquet."

A verbal hint at the unstableness that isn't actually there and another hint at the object that is the cherry stem twisted into a knot. _Our fates are tied together_.

"Thanks for the cherries." Then he leaves after picking up his coat. He leaves with a whiff of Alpha pheromones with _pining appetite_ rolling in muted waves.

He leaves _victorious_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha yeeeeeeeeee this chapter came out a lot sooner than i had planned OTL im currently working on chapter 3 bc ive got a bunch of overflowin inspiration mojo and my fingers are fuckin FLYIN all over the keyboard lemme tell you
> 
> wtf the fuck even with this dialogue tho omg it's difficult 2 string up sentences sounding all poetic and cryptic and shit while makin sense via context (and just makin sense in general TBHHHHHHHHHHHHHH)
> 
> also!!! this fic has gotten a lot of positive feedback and im so????????????????? !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im so happy oh m y go d i feel like squeaking and crying and screaming a lil bc i did not expect all of this !!!!!!!! i love you all like, seriously, pls be my valentines all of you
> 
> me: so many heart emojis @ u all <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the fic totally deviates now :^)
> 
> violence in this chapter!! though Hannibal is violent in general so i assume the peeps readin this already know this so????? i dont rlly gotta say anythin !
> 
> im rusty in writin violent scenes rip in peace me :^(

Dinner with Hannibal and Jack was a natural disaster for tension between Alpha and Omega.

And it did not involve Will and Hannibal.

Then he was called in about a woman being sewn into a horse and Will has to think about this new century with its technological advances. Maybe the internet is aiding in creativity for murder.

But that's just the bitter old man in him talking. He just wants to go home where it's warm and it's quiet, where he can further develop details within the details of his plan for vengeance over two fingers of whiskey.

Their next therapy session does not involve cherries or the discussion of time, or suppressants, or Will pointing fingers at Hannibal for twisting him into a human disaster while Hannibal maintains the facade of being an innocent man.

Will decides he doesn't like that.

"Don't lie to me." His vulnerable _'please don't lie to me'_ distantly reverberates within Will's skull and he can tell that Hannibal is recalling that exact same memory, however less muddled and sharper than the knives stored away in his kitchen. Lips curve into a dim smile.

"Will you return the courtesy?"

And this is where they discuss Will's attempt to kill the Alpha and the method of which he would murder Hannibal. Will doesn't mind telling the undiluted truth here.

"I need to know if you are going to try to kill me again, Will."

His heart flutters in his chest. It's such a _good_ feeling when a door is swung wide open and Will can waltz in without any repercussions-- that this opportunity is groveling at his feet, gift-wrapped with the biggest, fattest, reddest bow tied at the top.

The tip of his pink tongue is visible and as Will licks his lips, he can see that desire of _Alpha_ singeing Hannibal's nerves.

"I don't want to kill you anymore, Doctor Lecter." There is a pause as Will's eyes glaze over with an emotional little _something_.

"Not now that I _finally_ find you interesting."

Voice kissed with an underlying breathlessness as it curls in the atmosphere with a graceful revelation. It is like a breath of fresh air to Hannibal after living in an era of smog breeding disease within him and, Will observes, his psychiatrist's eyes grow heavy-lidded as if he were to savor this purity, yet catches himself before indulging.

This will be Hannibal Lecter's undoing.

He is going to make Hannibal latch onto his words like a starving man and give him his fill to the point of _bursting_.

That is when Will is going to tear it away from him, an illusion he had fooled himself into believing was an authentic piece of reality, and this darling little Omega will bear his canines and pose them on hot skin to rip the meat out of Lecter's throat.

With the aiding of his hands, of course.

Just like how they discussed in this therapy session.

He thinks about that all the way to the makeshift grave site and then Will spots Beverly Katz ducking under the yellow tape to greet him with a warm smile.

She was gifted amnesia on the day she was attacked along with several thick, permanent, vertical scars beginning from her collarbones all the way down to her ankles.

Will knows who did it. Wonders why he didn't just kill Beverly and eat her.

Another question for another time, however. He's got a date with fifteen bodies and one of them stood him up.

 _Sarah, Sarah, Sarah_.

Beverly claps him on the shoulder with the gunshot scar and leaves just as Zeller approaches and makes for a heart-felt apology.

Things are looking up, aren't they?

 _Oh, yes they are_.

____________

The one-way mirror is the screen and the two individuals seated in the center softly conversing is the scene. Will watches with hushed interest. Rooted into stillness and simmering with quiet distaste. He is in close proximity with four Alphas and it is Clark Ingram that reeks of rotting corpses pulsing in the heat waves of a New Orleans summer.

What a god-awful scent. He can even smell it even in here.

 _Alphas and their power displays_ , Will thinks flatly.

"I know what it's like to point at a killer and have no one listen," Will utters in the calculating silence after Jack gives the go-ahead to release Ingram from the interview.

"You pointed in the wrong direction."

He traps Jack with his stare and aches to communicate, _'I'm always right in the end.'_

But that would not serve well for his manipulative blueprints.

Nodding ever-so slightly, he huffs an exhale through his nose.

"I guess I did."

Jack's surprise is visible, adorned with the widening of his eyes and the step he takes back, and he leaves after composing himself, settling with a dimly satisfied expression coloring his countenance. In his peripherals, Will can see Hannibal's eyebrows arched in the vaguest of motions as his eyes paint questions and following-explanations along the floor.

Unstable little Omega falls into the trap.

_But ah._

_I've got you_.

Will is positively _confident_ that he has already ensnared Hannibal in his fist when they arrive at the stable and he is forbidden from pulling the trigger at that very moment as Hannibal's thumb rests between the hammer and firing pin. He can just about _smell_ the _heady_ **pleasure** from the Alpha and almost _chokes_ on it, consumed with the thick smoke of a burning edifice. What he cannot deny is that indeed, Hannibal had the chance to mold Will first and construct him a crown of thorns that sunk into his soft flesh, made him bleed uncertainties, fear, and desperation for security, for sincerity. Then he had baptized Will in blood, made him emerge into this world with an unpredictability for violence.

And it worked.

When a warm hand comes to rest against the edge of his jaw, fingers resting upon the side of his neck, Will nearly surrenders. _Physically_. Almost closes his eyes and bares his neck at the tenderness of the pressure, _reverent_ , even, almost goes lax. Hannibal closes the distance enough to gaze at Will Graham and drink in that detached visage of his.

Will can smell him and he smells _so good_.

Hannibal does not speak to the Omega's eyes. He speaks to Will's _lips_.

Eyes the color of the Caribbean sea, they slowly break away from the pitiful Alpha sobbing on his knees to shift and meet Hannibal's stare. _There_. He sees it. Maroon eyes flitting down to taste Will's lips with his gaze before meeting the Omega directly. And what Will sees is the monster cloaked by the person suit utterly _basking_ in _pride_ and _joy_ over this transformation.

And _lecherous_ **_desire_**.

Will passes up that familiar tugging in his gut to his natural Omegan yearning to be conquered by an Alpha.

What an interesting divergence from the tender moment of Hannibal petting a sheep. It had been a sweet little thing to witness.

Hannibal strokes Will's ear once with his thumb-- holds back a shiver that had begun to track along his spine. He glances at Ingram before looking at Hannibal from underneath his eyelashes. Leans in just a fraction to pass it off as unconscious movement.

And Will almost believes he's in heat when his ears catch the faintest _purr_ emanating from the Doctor.

That night he dreams of deeply scenting Hannibal Lecter while the Alpha's neck is tightly restrained by thick rope.

____________

It's a Mardi Gras of carnage at the next crime scene and Will wants to ask Jack about that whole internet thing.

____________

The appointment is scheduled for Will to arrive at ten o'clock sharp and he's there five minutes before his designated time. He sits in the little waiting room and scrutinizes the pregnant Omegas ready to burst at the seams.

He takes a minute to wonder about that.

Is pregnancy really a dazzling experience of the ages? To be heavy with the weight of another life form, waddling around in search of bathrooms every ten minutes-- is it really all grand? Will never gave it much consideration, always thought he would be a chemically manufactured Beta living the rest of his years doting on the company of his strays and making small talk with his liquor.

His reflection in the window has him contemplate. The Will Graham on glass mirrors the Will Graham in flesh as their hands lift to settle upon their flat stomachs.

He takes a moment to mull over it a little longer. _What would it be like to be swollen with child, I wonder?_

The receptionist calls out his name and Will stops thinking about it for the time being.

After changing into the hospital gown, Will awaits in the examination room with a nervous, flipping sensation in his belly. He hasn't had a checkup like this in twelve years.

No, not a very smart idea, but Will has never really been good at taking care of himself in this aspect.

It takes two minutes and fifteen seconds (Will counted) for someone to step into the room.

"Hello, Mr. Graham. I'm Doctor Maria Peña."

Truth be told, Will cannot contain the surprise.

"Hi." What an astounding greeting! "Um, you're..."

She tilts her head.

"... young," he finishes lamely. What he really wants to say is _'You're an **Omegan** **doctor**.'_

"Oh!" Such a soft laugh. Quiet and genuine. "No, I just look that way."

"You must get that a lot, then."

"Yeah, I do." She rubs at her cheek to pacify the hue of pink. Will also wants to add _'You're also soft, tiny, and cute.'_ Reminds him of a marshmallow. A marshmallow adorned with dark skin and decorated with curls tamer than Will's own.

He's getting off track.

"Well, Mr. Graham--"

"Will is just fine. You're going to be examining my most intimate places, so I don't think formalities really apply here."

Her pink mouth blossoms with a smile and Will finds her dimples endearing.

"Well then, Will. How long has it been since your last checkup?"

And it goes like that. Routine, routine, routine. Some additional, good-natured comments on Doctor Peña's part and Will decides that he likes her a lot-- she is not of a harsh, disconnected disposition. Had he been an Alpha, Will would have taken to courting her on the very spot and without a drop of hesitation.

Under a different circumstance, of course.

"When should I be expecting my heat?" The inquiry is nothing short of awkward on Will's end. Dr. Peña blinks. Ah. She must have been getting to that part.

"With the information you've given me, I reckon about five days. A week, maximum." She writes something down from a little butterfly notepad she had extracted from the pocket of her coat. "You should come see me after your heat in case there are any complications. Just to be safe."

Will nods and takes the paper she hands out to him. ' **Precautions To Take Before Your Heat**.'

"I'll do that."

"I also suggest being in a place where Alphas don't live around or tend to loiter. Having been on your suppressants for such a long period caused your pheromones to remain compressed and build with tension, therefore they'll be especially dense and will attract any Alpha within a block around you."

Eyebrows raise.

"Mated and unmated?"

She offers a little smile. Tender compassion in her brown eyes.

"It's a risk I'm not willing for you to take."

Despite being his doctor, Will adopts her presence of that as a young sister.

 _The desires of an only child_.

He departs with a small wave and drives downtown to purchase some items Dr. Peña had scribbled on her list. One makes him blush in particular. She was even considerate enough to write down the price.

Needless to say, walking into a store for Presented Omegas to purchase a certain _toy_ spoon-fed Will with enough shame that he would glow red for _weeks_.

The Omega ringing up his purchase blushed with him.

On the way to his car, Will gets a call from Jack and completely forgets about the toy as he holds the phone to his ear. He discards the bag in the backseat and drives to the museum.

Randall Tier proves to be a subject of deep interest to Will Graham.

 _"I know who I am now and I'm doing_ much _better."_

That's when he _sees_ Randall. Behind those beady little eyes.

The beast in a person suit.

Nothing akin to the _monster_ in the person suit.

He is demoted from deep interest to the archetypal perpetrator.

Will arrives home later that night after departing from the museum and scratches the heads of his dogs while juggling the bags on his forearms. He dives straight into constructing his little nest for the upcoming heat rearing its head around the corner when the dogs begin to cause a commotion at the front door, barking, howling, whimpering, crying. Emerging from the room, there is soft concern stitched into Will's features.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand.

Cold in his gut.

An imbalance in peace.

Something in the darkness.

Waiting.

He opens the door to observe from outside when Buster escapes from the barrier Will has attempted to make with his legs.

"Buster!" Doesn't listen. Will calls the dog's name again. A speck indenting the snow.

The dog disappears into the woods and there is an unforgiving chill freezing him from the inside out. Dread seizes him when Buster cries out, then he is making his own indentations in the snow after having taken his shotgun and coat.

He finds the little one injured and panic sets in.

 _Meat_.

 _Butchered meat_.

 _Of a recent slaughter_.

 _Slaughtering of_ pigs.

Something in the darkness.

 _Watching_.

Will takes the picks up the small dog and _runs_.

Something runs with him.

 _After_ him.

Inside the house. Puts Buster down. Closes both doors. Locked the first one. Shuts off the lights. Takes retreating steps until he turns off the last one.

Darkness. There is peace in it.

The panic dissipates.

Now _he_ waits.

And the beast comes to him.

____________

There is an extravagance in simplicity that falls short on the eyes of the ignorant. Unappreciated, skimmed over, or completely ignored all together. Those that value simplicity can gaze into the abyss that is behind by the glass barrier of transparency-- they can _see_ the complexity.

Yes. Even minimalism is upheld by intricate connections.

So even as Randall Tier's body is laid out on Hannibal Lecter's dining table intact and all, the simple display produces a meal of multifaceted structures and presentation.

He could have stretched Randall's arms and mimicked the cross of Jesus' crucifixion.

But he didn't.

Dramatic flares were Hannibal's forte.

You know.

 _Body art_.

"I'd say this makes us even."

The weight of his words vary.

"I send someone to kill you, you send someone to kill me."

A steady calm resides in Will Graham's blue eyes. Like the earth after a passing storm, serenity is left in its wake, all soft soil and sleeping creatures.

" _Even steven_."

His pitch is light, almost good-humored, yet the poise carved into Will's expression betrays the assumption one would have made.

Hannibal stares at him and nods once.

They speak as if conducting another therapy session, however over a corpse that poses as a centerpiece, and Will returns to staring at the static visage that had once been a living, breathing, Randall Tier. Such a curious thing how a life can be snatched away so easily, so breathlessly.

"Did you kill him with your hands?"

Will doesn't look at Hannibal.

"It was..."

He deliberates with himself to search for the correct word, feels a magnetic pull to look down and examine his raw, red, bleeding knuckles.

"... intimate."

Almost is a state of awe bordering reality, drifting to and fro between the line-- a quiet fascination that pokes through the rich soil after the seed had been misplaced a few inches too deep. He doesn't quite catch what Hannibal says, instead opting to pay attention to him when his savaged hand is cradled upon the warm, steady palm of a surgeon's grace. Such a tenderness to it; Will could have believed that his hand was resting on bundled silk.

But it's Hannibal's hand that his own is delicately resting upon and Will thinks, _'Oh, **Alpha** '_ with an enthralled gentleness that takes him by surprise.

The he drifts on his own accord into his little Wonderland, his Mind Palace, and makes a room for this very moment.

"Don't go inside, Will."

He pauses in the construction of the room.

"You'll want to retreat. You'll want it. As the glint of the rail tempts us when we hear the approaching train."

Warm wetness.

"Stay with me."

There is something in his voice that makes Will stop the building process completely and drift back to reality, staring, staring at the simple beauty of being tended to his wounds and processing just _what_ _that_ could have been in Hannibal's tone. And as he attempts to decipher, to pinpoint, Will thinks that there is something compellingly seductive about the way Hannibal dabs at his split flesh and caresses the undamaged skin with the tips of his fingers, with the side of his pinkie. It's... _intimate_.

Like killing Randall Tier had been.

Yet even _more_ so.

"My anchor even when the seas are distraught and enraged," Will murmurs, just a little far, far away.

Hannibal _purrs_. Will's eyelids flutter.

"You were not either of those things." Hannibal's voice is a sweet nothing. "You were empowered."

White bandages cocoon Will's beaten knuckles.

"Tell me, Will. When you killed Randall, did you fantasize about killing me?"

He looks at Hannibal with eyes that are sound of any apprehensive fluctuations, allows Hannibal to believe that this peace Will is in is because murdering someone created that very peace.

_And the beast comes to him, an enigma in the eyes of the people and divine chaos in the wrath of mankind. Poised on its haunches to assess, to prolong the destruction to properly savor when the end comes, staring down the barrel of the shotgun with a predatory calculation._

_But_ you _are no predator. You are in_ my _domain._

 _The shotgun is discarded and he is pinned to the wall by the monster in the person suit, this mutated wolf shed of his sheep's clothing, nude and in tune with its bestial instincts that Will overthrows and conquers. Collapses onto it, straddles the black chest, knocks his fist into the side of its face again and again and_ **again** _. The person suit and the monster oscillate. Will strikes with his fist over and over, beats him until he is satisfied, until something_ **cracks** _and there is no longer pulsating sharpness of adrenaline but a hushed ringing._

_He takes the wendigo's antlers in his hands and snaps its neck._

_Then there remains only a lulling quiet._

"You've got something there. Under your eye."

Will lifts his bandaged hand to swipe at the nothingness above the apple of Hannibal's cheek with the tip of his middle finger. He does not look directly into Hannibal's eyes. Barely smiles with one side of his mouth.

"I must be seeing things again."

He drops his hand as his attention is captured by the cadaver showpiece.

"Do excuse me, Doctor Lecter."

____________

"The killer chose not to dispose of the body, but to display it."

Will keeps his distance as the Alphas communicate.

 _I saw you and I aided you in your Becoming. This is_ my _design._

And the pendulum swings.

Because Will needs to keep up appearances.

When he comes back, Will exhales through his lips, long and dry.

"There is an air of presentation to it. A grand gesture that is meant to appeal-- to _charm_."

"Charm?" Jack lifts is eyebrows.

Will looks up at the ceiling and back to Randall Tier's Becoming. "It is the bouquet of roses presented at the first meeting."

Jack doesn't enjoy the pretty wording.

"What is the meaning, Will? What is he _doing_?"

Slowly he turns around, festooned with a grimace. Will makes it a point to drag his eyes along Hannibal's tie, up his neck, run along those sharp cheekbones and settle to stare into inquisitive maroon eyes.

"He's courting him."

The mask falls for a second and never has Will Graham ever seen Hannibal Lecter so _aroused_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to post this yesterday but i got sidetracked OTL hooooooooooooo SHIET this took me 12 hours to write because i had no idea if i wanted to keep it in one scene or do the time skips and then AFTER the time skips i was like ??????????? this is like a filler?????????? who likes reading fillers bc I SURE DONT gimme the good stuff!!! gimme the main reason im readin this story !!!!!!!!
> 
> but then i realized that hey, this aint gonna be just some filler but a filler with the GOOD STUFF
> 
> at least i think it's the good stuff idk idk !!
> 
> i mean, Will totally fuckin implied courting Hannibal like aaaaaaaaaaaaall up in his face
> 
> tfw the cannibal thinks hes got Will in his grasp but it's actually lil old Will that's got Hannibal by the huevos
> 
> edit: i cant believe i fuckin forgot to add this but tHANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS !!! they make me squeak and laugh and squeak again oh man oh man ILYSM!!!!!!!!!! <3 thank you for takin time outta ur days to write them!!! it makes me :'^)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short bc originally it had been one WHOLE chapter but i split it up !!!!!! i'll make up for the length by posting the next chapter tomorrow!!
> 
> i promise itll be TOTALLY worth it ;^)

It is a warm, winter morning in Wolf Trap, Virginia that Will is almost sorry for having missed it because the dreariness of sleep still lingers minutes after having surfaced into consciousness.

Today marks Day 3 of his approaching heat. His doctor may have ballparked it but Will knows _now_ ; it's just a feeling, an unseen heaviness settling on his chest and shoulders little by little as the hours pass in bundles--  like when people know when they're going to menstruate.

He plans accordingly.

And what a beautiful day it is to have a therapy session.

That piece of darkness Will has consumed from Hannibal's own rolls in delight.

He makes sure not to shower. The pheromones are denser that way.

Oh, and this isn't even _close_ to what they are going to be like during his heat.

Will is, for lack of a better word, _giddy_.

Getting a little ahead of himself, though. Slow and steady wins the race.

Like their reunion and the times before that, he is right on time. Will should be considered the Messiah of Punctuality.

"Hello, Will."

"Good morning, Doctor Lecter."

He steps aside and Will stumbles over his own feet a bit, lightly bumps against Hannibal's chest. There is a minor breeze of humiliation but he then understands that the lack of grace works in his favor as a gentle hand comes to rest upon Will's shoulder, steady, squeezes ever-so softly . Such a mesmerizing heat-- Will feels like he's being branded.

"Sorry. I'm still a bit drowsy." Makes a humble show of it by rubbing one of his eyes with the heel of his palm. Hannibal lowers his head a tad to examine Will's face.

Hannibal may not notice _Will_ noticing because he leans forth in such a subtle manner that for a second, Will thinks it really _is_ the drowsiness, but he catches the flaring of nostrils as Lecter _inhales_. Closes his eyes. _Savors_.

 _Very good_.

"Have you been plagued by nightmares?" he questions in a murmur that is quite unlike previous timbres. It is... softer within the undertone.

Of course Hannibal's voice is naturally soft and never imperious.

But the _undertone_.

"I've been plagued by Abigail," Will says a little breathlessly, sliding away with ease from Hannibal's touch to embark in the direction of their seats. He does not sit, merely drapes his coat along the back of the chair. "She's been appearing in my dreams every night and I haven't been getting much sleep."

A lie. He's only seen her twice since he's been off his suppressants.

"Have you been able to identify where the trigger of her appearances originated from?"

Slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Blinks at the ceiling with his back to Hannibal.

"Ever since my doctor's appointment some weeks ago. It feels like some sort of festering regret taking her form inside my head."

Half a lie-- the first half.

"You were at the hospital." A lilt in pitch. Not a question. _'Expand, William.'_

"I was, yes." He will **not** expand. _'Work for it, Doctor Lecter.'_

"Are you ill?"

 _Good boy_.

"No." He shakes his head and glances over his shoulder. "I went to see a gynecologist, actually."

There is a stillness as Hannibal considers the information he has been presented by Will Graham on a silver platter.

"And as I sat there waiting, the room was _full_ of pregnant Omegas. They were just..." Eyebrows furrow the slightest as he gazes at the ceiling again. "... _glowing_."

He turns around after a little pause embedded with heavy silence. Will looks at the floor. "Sitting in that room triggered Abigail's presence to manifest in my subconscious."

Hannibal approaches the Omega with a grace Will believes is engrained into his genetics and is not something he had to practice over time.

"Being swaddled in the center of fertility after having shattered a child's entire world is reason enough to be stricken with guilt. Your mind is a womb of remorse."

"I don't feel _remorse_." Will really doesn't. "It's _envy_ that I feel."

Hannibal takes that silver platter and lifts the top with a flourish. Oh. _Oh_.

"You are envious that you are not with child." Like the Heavens were robbed of their stars and scattered within the eyes of Hannibal Lecter, oh, do they _shine_. "A family is what you desire."

Those six words are nude and vulnerable as they are coaxed into the light; Will examines Hannibal's choice of words. Recollections of phantom itches arise. Left unscratched and ignored for his closeted Omegan years. Somewhere in the back of Will's mind he had been afraid to scratch, to scratch too hard on accident and leave behind several scabs that would peel on their own if faced with a beaming family.

So distant and easy had it been to ignore the itch. Will begins to scratch it now.

"It's ridiculous." Will's laugh-- brief-- is split with dry amusement and astonishment. "Absolutely ridiculous to want something like that after everything that's occurred."

"Not at all. It is one of the most natural things to yearn for-- after all, we covet what we see every day."

" _Natural_ ," he mimics with a sarcastic nod. Leans against Hannibal's desk with crossed arms. "Yes, because this is _natural_ \-- to be thoroughly _bred_ until I'm _heavily_ swollen with children."

 _"Indeed it is."_ A rumble of impious nature Will catches as Hannibal leans against the opposite end of the desk. Even if Will _is_ planning to ruin him, denying the sharp heat that flashes and threatens slick would be **futile**. "Your failure with Abigail serves as fuel to try again, this time with your very own. She is a poignant reminder of the second chances your fertility shall grant."

"Forgiveness." Will plucks it from the implication.

"Do well with your children and all is forgiven."

What a sly and devious little thing Hannibal is. _A manipulative minx._ Will almost applauds the man for it. Actually _admires_ him some.

"Omegan biology. Such a curious thing."

"Beauty does not stray far from curiosities," Hannibal says. His thick accent gives for a charming intonation.

Will smiles a little.

 _Just_ a little.

"This invisible man you are waiting for in the darkness. Are you planning to create a family with him?"

This is the part where Will Graham has the rug swept from under his feet and the wind is knocked out of his lungs, where he loses his composure and blinks owlishly. Seduction by means of biology and Hannibal's profound interest in Will's ability to empathize with the beasts of mankind is the ploy Will intends to use and capture him for his own selfishness, to make the man suffer, but now he thinks not of that but of _this_ \-- a _family_. He thinks about it. _Really_ thinks about it. _Thinks_ about going to bed with Hannibal, _thinks_ about the way his belly would protrude over his pants and from behind his shirts, _thinks_ about giving birth to children-- these beautiful, innocent children, with Will's dark, untamed curls and Hannibal's crackling maroon eyes-- _thinks_ about the way Hannibal would cradle their little ones.

To be a part of a family. To feel complete _. It's such a pretty picture_.

He would be wrapped around their plump and tiny fingers.

And _Will's_.

The outcome of this plan with this element involved would **guarantee** a victory.

To have conquered the monster by being an empathetic Omega and bearing a family.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Utter adoration and turmoil will sear the monster with third-degree burns.

 _Oh my, oh my, oh my_.

"Yes."

Will lays his palms flat against the desk and exposes his soft neck for the Alpha to savor as he looks to the ceiling.

"I want to bear him many, many children."

 _Yes_. _Hannibal will definitely be useful in more ways than one_.

"Soulmates, after all."

Hannibal leans close to Will, as if hinting a secret. And in a voice so low, so thick with an intimacy that whispers desire, he murmurs:

"That is correct. _Soulmates_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do u suppose Will's gon do
> 
> hmhmhmHMMMMMMMMHMHMhm >:^)
> 
> ps!! ur comments make me happier than when im listenin 2 nicki minaj
> 
> if that doesnt tell u anythin idk what will TBH


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me father 4 i have sinned

One more day until his heats strikes. Will can almost _taste_ it.

And apparently so can the others back at the crime lab. They wrinkle their noses. Beverly is the first one to pipe up.

"Oh boy, do you _reek_ , Mr. Graham!" She makes a show of pinching her nose with her thumb and index.

"Well, that's odd. I could have sworn I showered two hours ago."

"Should've taken a second one, maybe a third-- y'know, for _funsies_."

"What's your damage?" Will _almost_ grins. But that's okay, since Beverly does it for him.

"Oh, no, no, **no**. We are _not_ having this 80's slang-fest again," Zeller announces over the burned cadaver of a deceased someone.

"Take a chill pill, Z." It's Price that says this as he enters the room. Beverly cackles and Zeller sighs. "Christ, Will, you _reek_."

"Tell me about it, stud," Will drawls. "But come on. I don't smell _that_ bad, do I?"

"It's not that you smell bad per say, kiddo. Your scent is just really--" She makes some fanning motion with her hand. "-- **strong**." Pause. "Okay, no, yeah, it's, like, _grody to the max_."

Will can't help the snort. "Yeah, well _eat my shorts_."

Then Jack comes into the room and backpedals, almost knocks his back against Hannibal's chest. He covers his nose with his elbow. Hannibal is admirably unruffled.

 _Except_ for that throat swallow.

The Omega in Will purrs.

"Jesus Christ, Will. Why the hell are you here smelling like _that_?"

"I still have a job to do, Jack." He wants to sigh loudly. Holds back an eye roll.

"Oh yeah? Well you _won't_ be able to do your job with Alphas falling at your feet left and right!" Oh, so _now_ Jack is worried about his competency in the field-- never mind the former hallucinations and loss of time, the swelling of his brain. Oh, no, never mind _that_.

Will scoffs. "Need I remind you that you're _all_ Alphas?"

"Not gonna lie, Will. You smell _a lot_ better than my mom's garlic bread."

"And Mama's Boy here loves her garlic bread."

Zeller elbows Price in the ribs with a scowl.

"Alright, enough horsing around." Jack places his hands on his hips. "Just try not to breathe and you'll be fine. Now tell me about the body."

"The Four-One-One, boys," Beverly adds unnecessarily. Will shoots her a tiny, secretive smile.

"Orthodontics confirmed it's Freddie Lounds. A little bit of kerosene-- **_fwoom_**! Incendiary journalism."

Will circles around the slab and silently marvels at the charred corpse. She had been a slim and delicate pig, weak without her wounding words to aid her as a weapon of defense. Her death been anything _but_ difficult to execute.

This is why you don't go poking around in other people's business.

You get _burned_.

He didn't even get to eat after breakfast because of Freddie. Had _really_ been looking forward to that slice of cheesecake sitting untouched in his fridge.

Yesterday was pretty booked.

Will is digressing.

He tunes back in to hear Hannibal add, "This is something sacred."

"If you consider courting to be sacred."

Eyes on him. "This was done by the same person that killed Randall Tier and put him on display?"

"What better way is there to offer another gift? To target a nuisance and present it with the prettiest gift wrap. _'I can provide, need you not worry.'_ "

He comes to a halt and is now standing beside Hannibal.

"So it's an Alpha with a taste of extravagance via murder."

"I don't think it's an Alpha, Jack." The atmosphere drains of professionalism and tenses with dread.

"Oh God, a Beta?"

"An _Omega_? It can't be. No. _Absolutely_ _impossible_."

That is incorrect, Z.

Omegas, tender and with their soft, beaming smiles, were not excluded from the ' **Pool of Abnormalities**.' Doctors speculated it some genetic mutation in Omegan DNA that caused these rarities to stray far from the path of gentleness and obedience that are so affectionately doted on by Alphas and Betas. _From the pot and into the fire_. Flames of murderous and violent tendencies. There is that whole Nature vs. Nurture debate made by Betas and Omegas, where Omegas had once been _fiercer_ than their Alpha counterparts thousands of years ago until evolution molded them into leniency by the extensive, appeasing efforts Alphas took into courting them. Few Omegas have appeared to tap into the baser instincts of  their evolutionary ancestors.

The murder rate dealt by the hands of Omegas is .99%.

Cue Will Graham.

That pool is rather snug.

"A Beta or an Omega, be it as it may, this killer wants to prove to be efficient and capable of providing for the other. To declare to the one they are pursuing that by no means are they a fragile teacup in need of delicate handling."

There is a smirk itching to settle on Will's mouth. _Wonderfully said, Doctor Lecter_.

"I would just get someone a dozen roses or a potted cactus. Simpler things, simpler times. Has this guy ever heard about that?" Beverly throws a _'How lame'_ somewhere in there while Price had continued talking. It considerably eases the tension.

"A potted cactus?"

"Yeah. Y'know those itty-bitty little ones?" The looks Price is given by those in the room makes him a bit defensive. "What? They're cute. It would be like me telling the person I'm interested in that they're cute."

_"Geek."_

"It's romantic, okay?"

The three lab coats bicker and Jack forces Will to take three days off during.

He'll be back in two.

"Seriously, Will. Those _showers_." Will throws a wave back at Beverly while walking away.

"I'll consider it. And keep Price away from potted cacti."

"You got it, stud!"

____________

"I'm having trouble with wrapping my head around making a life."

"When Omegas become mothers, fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think."

"Said the same thing happens when men become killers."

"Fathers can be killers. What sort of father would you be?"

Will thoughtfully places a hand on his stomach, allows it to gingerly hover before returning to his lap.

"I'd be a _good_ _mother_." He says that to instigate some sort of reaction from Hannibal.

And it works _perfectly_.

Builds a room for the tightening of fine fingers around the pen in their grasp and a flash of heat within those maroon eyes to his Mind Palace.

"But it frightens you, the idea of being one."

"More or less." Wills rubs at his stubble with the palm of his hand. "Unease is the better term for it."

"The mere thought of parenthood is especially troubling. Doubt emerges when we form scenarios that assess our skills as a parent before even applying them to the real thing."

That same hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, only to be forgotten and go slack. Will's eyebrows furrow a bit.

"Have you ever been a father?" Quiet. Treading on thin ice.

"I was to my sister. She was not my child but she was my charge." Hannibal has looked away from Will. It appears as if he is deliberating-- _hesitating_. "She taught me so much about myself; her name was Mischa."

The way Hannibal Lecter appears in this very moment is something Will had never thought to prepare for. So... _soft_. _Painfully tender_. With a vulnerability that comes from the deep-seated adoration, affection, the _love_ of family.

So this monster _can_ love.

Heart knocks in a brief, irregular rhythm against his ribcage. Will is endeared by this. Reassured.

And it fucking _bothers_ him that he _feels this way_ about _Hannibal_.

"Was?" It hadn't been his intention to sound so soft.

"She's dead." Oh. "Abigail reminded me so much of her."

Genuine smiles rarely made appearances on the face of Doctor Hannibal Lecter and truthfully, Will never expected to ever see them so as long as that monster occupied the person suit for the rest of its comfortable days, but when he sees that _tiny_ little piece of kindhearted sincerity blossom along those sinful lips, the rug is pulled out from his feet once again.

And Will Graham _hates it_.

"I miss her." The way he admits it-- it's _heartbreaking_. "More than I can bear."

Coming to terms with it after having shoved Abigail's presence into an unforgotten corner of his mind is like having a piece of him torn out by claws. Infection seeping into the wound and spreading, spreading, spreading a dull hurt that rings like distant bells in a graveyard. The more he listens the louder the bells grow and the more it pains him. And in a sense, a piece of him had been torn out by claws.

The claws of the monster in the person suit.

"Would you protect your child in a way you couldn't protect Abigail?"

Glossy eyes.

_"I would kill for my children."_

Blinks. A tear escapes the dam. He ducks his head and wipes it away.

Being earnest-- that's enough for now.

_Come back to your senses, Will._

"How quickly we form attachments to something that does not yet exist."

"How quickly we are to succumb to murder in order to protect the innocence and lives of our children."

"It is only natural."

"Natural." Will looks away from him. "All this talk about _natural_..."

Shakes his head. "Was it natural for Abigail to die?"

Hannibal has the nerve to say, "As natural as the volcanoes erupt and hurricanes flood."

Will has to focus on carrying out his vengeance over time and _not_ right now.

"The circle of life tampered in the hands of man," he mutters. Hannibal remains silent. Will feels a migraine coming on.

"Do you have any aspirin?"

One small nod and Hannibal is out of his chair, excusing himself as he goes to retrieve it, and Will is left alone with the company of his thoughts. Rhythmic pulsing twisting at his temples. He rubs at them.

 _Delights_ and _enrages_ him. Oh, do the scales tip with the weight of whichever is greedy in its gluttony, but somehow always remain balanced at the end of the day.

That definitely means something.

He just doesn't want to think about _what_.

Not now, anyway.

"Will."

Glass of water in one hand, a single pill in the other. Will takes the pill and swallows it dry.

Then thinks about manners and takes the glass to drink it down some.

It's a smart idea to stay in Hannibal's good graces.

That, and his father didn't raise Will to be an indecorous little fiend.

"Thank you."

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"I wouldn't have asked you for that aspirin if I didn't."

A hand comes to rest against Will's forehead, brushing away silk curls, light as a feather and warmer than the heat of an open oven. He doesn't resist. Finds some comfort in it from a long-forgotten memory of which Hannibal had been genuine in Will's eyes, where touches were a saving grace in stability, in security. In fact he closes his eyes, indulges himself, pretends to be the Will Graham from two years ago, naive and soft and finding a white peace in Hannibal's presence, his touch.

Tips of fingers slide from Will's temple down along his cheek, resting against his jaw. Lines of fire in their wake.

"You are feverish."

Quietest of murmurs. Fingers now cup the point of Will's chin, cool and soft. A faint pressure from beneath.

The Omega tilts his head up with eyes sliding open just barely.

Hannibal gazes. _Gazes_. _So sweetly he gazes_.

"I should go." Will almost didn't catch his own little whisper.

"Yes. It would be wise of you to rest."

Hannibal tucks a curl behind Will's ear.

"Would you like me to drive you home?"

"No thank you, Doctor Lecter. I'll manage just fine on my own."

_'... by no means are they a fragile teacup in need of delicate handling.'_

The monster smiles. _Softly_.

Will catches the way he leans in some to scent the Omega from this distance.

"You always do."

That makes Will feel something he can't really explain at this very moment.

He makes it home in one piece and rubs at his eyes while fumbling to get out of the car, almost tripping over his own feet and plummeting face-first into the snow. The dogs welcome him home with eager yips and affectionate barks; Will tries to pet all of them. The migraine is a _real_ sonofabitch.

Winter is present and Will can see his own breath inside the house. Makes noises of discomfort as he struggles to get a fire going in the fireplace.

 _Bathroom_. He needs to cool off.

Will heads to the bedroom he's been using as of late; the absence of hallucinations and nightmares leaves him with not needing his dogs as crutches for comfort.

Stripped of his clothes and into the tub. Uncomfortably warm, Will turns only one knob and showers with the coldest setting of water. Goose pimples crawl along his fair skin. Eyelids tremble with fatigued weight.

When he's dried off and dressed with a towel around his waist, feeling absolutely _no_ better, his mobile alerts him of an incoming call with that default Madonna song _"Into the Groove"_ (leave it to Beverly to toy with his cell and mess with everything-- he didn't have the time or the heart to change it, really) and is briefly humored to see _Hannibal Lecter_ bright on the screen accompanied by the tune.

"Doctor Lecter."

"Will." His name is cradled in a pleasantness that is drawn from Will having picked up sooner than later. "It is good to know you have the strength to hold up the phone."

"I drove a two-ton piece of metal from your home to mine-- I can hold up a phone just fine."

 _Fine_. One of Will's favorite words in his vocabulary.

"I am pleased to hear it." Will makes a noise of affirmation-- a sort of lazy grumble-- and sits down on the edge of the bed. His heel touches a cold, flimsy surface, and Will notices it's the box with his toy. He flushes as he bends down to slide it out.

"Actually, it's a good thing you called. I would like to reschedule tomorrow's appointment." Fair digits grasp the shaft of the toy. "Something's come up."

"Not a problem." Will examines the pink silicone. "Are you in need of assistance?"

Laughter just about bubbles forth.

_Talk about dirty, Doctor Lecter._

But Hannibal hasn't a _clue_.

"I think I've got it."

Unconscious or not, the tip of the toy closes the distance with Will's mouth. It's cold. He rubs it against his lips. A fist grips at the bottom of his spine; Will jerks.

Hannibal asks about what date and time would work best for Will. He responds in kind. Slides the head of the toy into his mouth, slides it back out.

Ghostly fingers graze up along Will's spine. Sighs softly-- bit of a tremor there.

"Will? Is everything alright?" Curiosity and concern gentle in the inquiry. Grazes his lips against the silicone shaft.

"Everything is _fine_." Now uses his tongue.

" _William_." In that name is a tender chastise.

He supposes that's the trigger of the events that occurred next.

The migraine that had appeared to dissipate when Hannibal's call served as a distraction returned at full-force, in a single burst that left Will nearly _blind_ , dropping from his head and into his cervix like boiling water being poured out of the pot and onto the floor in a _violent_ splash. Pulsating flashes of heat, an _unbearable_ _agony_ that _swells_ and gives over to something _else_.

 _Fervid arousal_.

Will's body grows weak.

"Oh," he breathes.

"Oh?"

Body temperature skyrockets. His cock throbs. Hole twitches. _Empty_. Shifts. Something wet on his skin.

 _Slick_.

" _Oh_."

"Will?"

Heart pounding. _Violent_ inside his chest. No room to for oxygen. Shallow breaths only. Panting.

"Doctor Lecter, I have to go. Something's come up."

Indeed it _has_.

"Are you al--"

His thumb fumbles to end the call and the phone clatters to the floor. Heat. _Heat_. _Aggressive and growling for a reckoning_.

 _It's_ **consuming** _him._

Will clenches around nothing. Empty. _Empty_. He _needs_ to _fill_ himself _up_.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

Where does he focus? He's _wet_ and _hard_ and _hot_ all over and aching to be _savagely_ **_fucked_**.

_Where does he focus **first**?_

On the floor. It'll stick on the floor. Made for it. Hurry up. _Hurry up_. **_Hurry. Up_**.

Will slides off the bed. Turns around. Settles himself on his knees. Chest pressed against the edge of the bed. Fumbles in positioning the head of the dildo to his hole and, frustrated, hedonistically _enraged_ that he can't _fucking hold_ _it_ _still_ with his trembling fingers, just _sits_ himself on it, _stretches_ himself until he feels like he's being _split_ _in half_.

"Oh, _God_ ," Will chokes out.

He's so _full_.

His hips move on their own, lifting and then _slamming_ back down onto the _thick_ , _fat_ silicone, with a lascivious _violence_ that Will _can't_ get enough, his ravenous appetite _insatiable_ , his hole absolutely _wet_ and _gluttonous_ , sucking in the imitation of Alpha _girth_ and just _impaling_ _himself onto it_ , over and over and over and _over_ with an animalistic desperation to be _filled, filled, **filled**_.

Voice muffled by the bed's comforter. Hands blindly gripping for something to hold on to.

Knees pink, coloring to red, bits of skin splitting against the wintry floor.

Will doesn't care.

He fucks himself into delirium and _brutalizes_ his swollen prostate, never faltering in pace, body quivering, shaking, barraged by _blistering_ and _maddening_ _euphoria_.

In this madness he feels an arm firmly snake around his waist and a hand to wrap around his throat.

 _"Louder,"_ the voice rasps. _"Louder."_

"Harder," Will pleads. _"Harder."_

The grip around his throat tightens and Will _keens_.

_"Harder!"_

 Will Graham is _fucked_ into _sweltering_ _bliss_ by a _bestial_ force so _barbarous_ that he comes with a broken whimper and he comes _hard_ , comes until he comes to his senses and thinks that _that isn't enough_ and again, _rams_ himself onto the _fat cock_ until he comes _three more times_. Will slumps against the bed, twitching, shivering, riding out the aftershocks. Throat dry and ravaged by the sheer volume of his wanton cries.

Boneless, warm, and spent, Will has to fabricate some strength in order to slide his aching, twitching hole off the dildo and, with everything that he has, manages to get off and collapses onto the floor. He struggles to sit up. When he finally manages to rest his back against the bed, Will reaches for the phone he had dropped in his perverted haze and checks the time. The screen lights up.

Hannibal's name is on the screen. The seconds are still ticking.

Will did not successfully press **END**.

He can't find any shame-- not just yet. Instead, Will grins.

Will fucks himself _again_ and imagines facing Hannibal this time.

And the time after that.

And the time after _that_.

He doesn't hang up the call.

____________

Hours later, Hannibal is the one that hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive got a gnarly headcanon that Beverly has a love for that 80s aesthetic and it's a joke played off between Will and Bevs
> 
> also they totally love Madonna. no one can tell me otherwise.
> 
> im tryin to write out as much as i can before college starts back up next week! which is y there has been update after update aaaaahhhhh
> 
> also im rusty writing these kinds of scenes can u tell?? w ee ps
> 
> RIP IN PEACE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE


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